


An Ordinary Day

by Missy_dee811



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 14:44:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8493910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy_dee811/pseuds/Missy_dee811
Summary: One morning, Steve and Tony find themselves as each other's company for breakfast. The Tower is quiet, their teammates are still asleep. This becomes their new routine. They grow comfortable with each other. Until Steve goes on a mission with Natasha and Clint, which forces them to come to terms with their undisclosed feelings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I finished One Night in Madripoor not too long ago and wanted to write more about Steve and Tony in this context. 
> 
> I'm playing with timelines a little, but in general, this is after Steve comes back from the dead, after Tony deletes his brain, & once they've started working together again. They learn to be friends again. Slowly, it develops into something more.
> 
> I swear, this is fluff, but if you've read my other stuff, you'll know all my fluff comes with a caveat.

It happened one morning, on a rather ordinary day, which considering their chosen profession, was anything but ordinary.

They lived extraordinary lives, both a product and a consequence of their extraordinary powers and abilities. Though, at times, knowing they were extraordinary just didn't cut it, didn't quell the demons that haunted their minds, preying on those quiet moments of vulnerability when they closed their eyes and let sleep take its course. Oftentimes, waking up in the middle of the night, screaming inside their heads, hoping it was all in their minds, and that their wailing wasn't heard by the others.

It hardly ever was. Each, on their own floor, lived in solitude if they so choose; their cries bouncing off the glass and stainless steel. The bright sun refracting through the glass, illuminating what at night had been obscured by the clouds.

Steve woke up early most days. An early riser, he awoke earlier than most. The rising sun his only alarm. This day was no different than every other. First, he went for a run. Sometimes, particularly on stressful days, he'd throw on some sweats, and hit the punching bag.

On those days in which the carefully constructed modern world was brimming with impending doom, he'd punch the bag until his knuckles bled. The blood oozing out and across his fingers, the metallic stench filling his air. The liquid, growing more viscous as it coagulated, dampening his bandages, soothed him, reminded him of his mortality and that death, as it had done once before, would find him. The finality of life, a welcome reprieve from his reverie.

Upon leaving the gym, he grabbed his gear and headed back to his floor, the still-sleeping Tower breathing in and out slowly; he took the elevator in silence, for there was no one awake to question the bruising his bandage hid or the reason he went to the gym instead of hitting the pavement.

He returned to his floor, deposited his gear in his room, and stripped on the way to the shower. Letting the water cascade over his head as the beads of sweat and water mixed, he closed his eyes. The night before had been difficult. He had thought about the time, when they had thought him dead, and he was trapped in limbo, forced to relive his worst days in a never-ending cycle of casualties and calamities. He had been back for some time now, but the sensations of being trapped in one's mind never truly left. He turned, letting the water fall down his back, pummeling him; the massage a welcome relief. He placed his palm on the cool tile and let out a deep breath. _Today would be a better day,_ he told himself.

With the same precision with which he did everything, he went to grab the soap. He noticed it wasn't there. _Must've ran out_ , he thought. In its place was a nondescript shower gel. Inspecting the bottle proved to be useless: there were no signifiers, just ounces and milliliters written in small print along the bottom. Popping up the cap, he inhaled, breathing in the scent of evergreens. He smiled. It wasn't his usual choice but it was an apt substitute, and so, he didn't give it much thought as he poured some into his palm and lathered.

He rinsed off with cool water, the scent of evergreens filling the air.

He picked up the clothes he had haphazardly discarded on his way to the bathroom before getting dressed. There were still little droplets of water on his neck as he walked out of the room in jeans and a form-fitting T-shirt that matched his eyes. He could still smell the evergreens on his skin and the thought made him smile.

 

 

Deep in his underground workshop on the morning in question, Tony Stark was asleep, still seated as he had been hours ago, when he was still working on his latest project. Using his arm as a pillow, he was nestled between monitors and cables on top of a pile of blueprints. Moving an inch to the left, unconsciously, he knocked over his discarded cup of coffee and it spilled onto the table. He awoke with a jolt, quickly removing the blueprints, now dripping with coffee. He cursed under his breath.

They were salvageable, so he hung them over the cables lining the ceiling, letting them air dry as he cleaned off his desk, mumbling complaints to himself. He glanced at the clock, it was much earlier than he would've liked to have been awoken, and despite being the first thing he would have wanted in the morning, he glared at his, now empty, cup of coffee with disdain.

Having decided he hated this morning more than most, he picked up his things, and headed for the elevator that would take him to the topmost floor: the penthouse suite. On the way up, he decided to shower.

Sleeping in the workshop was a constant: a consequence of his insomnia and his incessant need to finish things as soon as he began them. It also offered him an escape as he thrust himself into his work, letting the days and nights blur together until exhaustion caught up with him, and he could rest unobstructed by his invasive nightmares. Dreams of blood and gore wracking him with guilt and longing. Questions of the future that plagued him with doubt.

As such, he often forgot to shower and eat, but someone always made sure there was something waiting for him, bringing it down while he was there, waist-deep in armor or hunched over a circuit board, but never interrupting him while he worked. Tony would only notice long after his food had cooled, and often, only when it was already cold. He felt foolish asking Jarvis if it was him and unsure who else would bother.

He walked out of the elevator and made a left, heading down the hall that lead to his room. He didn't sleep on his bed as much as he'd like and as he entered it, he contemplated collapsing on top of the duvet, nestling himself between the pillows, and letting the softness envelop him until sleep took him under. But alas, he had made up his mind and the morning sun was getting harder to ignore, as were his daily duties. He had been in the workshop long enough, he supposed, and now it was time to return to the world.

He let the water cascade over him as he stretched his arms over his head. The water was warm but not hot. He popped up the cap of his shampoo, lathering his hair. As he rinsed it out, he ran his fingers through his dark, coarse hair. Picking up the conditioner, he started anew, only then satisfied with its softness.

Once he had finished, he let the water soothe him before turning off the shower and toweling off. Rummaging through his drawers, he found a pair of dark wash jeans, which he threw on, pairing it with a black T-shirt.

Regretting his previous thoughts on dark, caffeinated beverages, and wishing for the warmth it offered, he went upstairs.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony walked into the kitchen, not expecting to find anyone there. He was hardly surprised to see Steve, however, sitting in breakfast nook, newspaper in hand, working on the crossword puzzle. He was sipping his steaming hot cup of coffee.

_If anyone were to be awake, it would be Steve._

Steve smiled softly when he entered. He was already dressed for the day. Tony looked at his watch, to make sure he had read the time correctly. Steve's smile grew into a grin. He motioned for Tony to sit.

As if instinctively, he grabbed the slightly chipped black mug with the yellow kitten emblazoned on the front. Tony didn't say anything aloud. _How does he know? It's not as if there aren't other mugs._

Steve dropped a spoonful of sugar, and then another, leaving the spoon in the mug. He put a small pot on the stovetop, poured some milk into it, and waited for it to warm up.

Once it had started boiling, he peeled the top layer, discarding it, as the coffee brewed. Tony watched him silently. Steve poured the coffee, added the steamed milk, and stirred the contents before turning to smile at Tony, who returned the grin, happily surprised and berating himself on his earlier, traitorous thoughts on coffee

Steve walked over and placed the mug in front of him. Steam was rising from it. Tony breathed in its aroma and wrapped his slender fingers around the mug before taking a gulp.

"How did you know," he asked, in awe.

"How did I know what," replied Steve.

"How... _Everything_. How did you know I like that mug? How did you know I steam my milk? How did you know to add only two sugars?"

Steve tried to hide his blush, to no avail. His pale skin flushed easily and this was no exception.

"Tony... We've been friends for nearly a decade, give or take. If the mug with the kitten is clean, you always use it. You've been steaming your milk for years. I've seen you pour milk into a pot to warm it on a stovetop in safe houses."

Tony blushed at the comment. He didn’t think anyone had noticed, let alone that Steve.

He fumbled over his words. "Maria – my, my mom used to warm her milk before pouring it into her coffee, she'd peel the skin off the top, just like you did. It – it always reminds me of her. I always drink my first cup this way," he chuckled, taking another sip. “You know; I can run on coffee… I practically do.”

As an aside, Steve said, “If your heart can handle it...”

Tony paused, lowering his cup, and schooling his features. He was hurt.

Steve immediately realized the fragile intimacy they had quietly built was falling apart. He had overstepped his bounds.

“I’m – I’m sorry… That was… Insensitive.”

“Thank you for the coffee, Steve. I should be getting back to work,” replied Tony, ignoring the apology but not entirely dismissing it. He stood, and started to walk out of the kitchen. At first, Steve stood transfixed, unsure how to amend the situation, but unwilling to let it fester.

“Tony, please… Stay. It’s – it’s not often we get to see each other, not this early at least. This is – this is nice, or at least it was. Just… Don’t go. Please?”

Tony turned around and eyed Steve, trying to read his expression, a mixture of guilt and genuine longing. Tony sighed and sat down. He ran his fingers through his hair and Steve couldn’t help but want to do the same. He composed himself.

"My… My mother, Sarah… She – she used to do the same thing, Tony. I've known you for so many years, why wouldn't I know these things?"

Tony took another gulp. "Steve... no one knows these things about other people."

"That’s not true and you know it, Tony. I'm sure Pepper knows. As does Jim. I'm sure Happy knew. They never lived with you, and they knew."

Tony tensed up but Steve pushed on, intending to make his point.

“I’ve lived with you for years, Tony…”

Tony felt as if they were having a very different conversation.

"The same way you know how to calibrate Jim's armor, the same way you program all your tech. You take into account all the little things we like, whether or not we've told you. Tony, how could you think no one's ever noticed?"

Tony, without missing a beat, replied, "Didn't think anyone cared."

"Well, I care," said Steve, suddenly affronted. Tony watched the tension leave his shoulders as he exhaled.

Steve squeezed Tony’s shoulder as he walked toward the fridge.

"French toast sound good?"

Tony replied, crossing his arms over his chest, “Actually, I prefer pancakes...”

“Have you had my French toast,” retorted Steve, indignantly.

“You think you’ll change my mind?”

“I do, in fact.”

“Is this some kind of challenge, Rogers?”

“Only if you want it to be, Stark,” said Steve, smirking.

“Well, you’re on, Cap.”


	3. Chapter 3

They didn't necessarily keep it a secret, but over the next few weeks, they'd meet for breakfast.

Steve would be sitting, reading the paper and sipping his coffee. He’d wait for Tony with a steaming cup prepared just the way he liked it.

Tony would waltz into the kitchen, slightly sleep-deprived, and take a gulp. He’d slowly awake as the caffeine hit his system.

Once it did, he’d animatedly discuss his latest project with Steve, bouncing ideas off of him. On quieter mornings, they'd talk about the news. Tony would steal the business pages from underneath him as Steve worked on the crossword puzzle.

"You have a tablet, you know. You don't have to steal my paper...every morning."

"Yeah, well... Seemed like a waste, since you're not reading it."

"Who said I wasn't?"

" _You_. You just did."

"No, I just told you to get your own. Here," said Steve, passing it to Tony, "here's your business section. Now, leave me alone, I'm an old man set in my ways."

"Whatever you say, grandpa," replied Tony, a smirk tugging at his lips. Steve glared at him but continued filing in the across answers. Today, he seemed to be doing fine on his own but some days, he'd begrudgingly ask for help.

"Steve, most people couldn't answer this crossword."

"Most people aren't master tacticians and strategists. I can't protect a world I know nothing about, Tony."

"We both know it's more than that, Cap," said Tony. Steve ignored him.

"Fine. Move over. I can't work on the crossword upside down."

"Some genius you are," replied Steve, playfully.

"See if I ever help you again," said Tony laughing, as Steve passed him the pencil and leaned back against the chair, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Don't look so pouty, Tony."

"I'm a grown man, I don't look pouty."

"Are you sure, cause you're pouting right now," said Steve trying to contain his laughter.

"Rogers, you're a menace."

"Takes one to know one, Stark. More French toast?"

“Of course, yours is my favorite.”

 

One morning, a few weeks after Tony and Steve had started spending their mornings together, Clint and Natasha were seated at the table with Steve. As usual, he was working on the crossword. Clint had pulled out the sports pages from underneath Steve's hand. Steve had tried swatting his hand away to no avail. Clint was a little too quick.

“Nice try, old man,” he said, smugly.

"Clint, would you just ask?" Natasha said slightly annoyed, which meant she was definitely very annoyed, as she looked up from her tablet.

Tony walked into the kitchen quietly, he grabbed his mug, which was sitting on the counter, next to the coffee brewer. To his surprise, it was empty. Steve looked up but didn’t say anything, and quickly turned away, continuing to work on the crossword.

Tony poured himself coffee. He added two sugars but didn’t bother steaming the milk. Again, Steve looked over and watched him but said nothing.

"Look who emerged from the dungeons," said Clint hoping to ease the tension. Natasha eyed him curiously but said nothing. Steve smiled but continued working on the crossword, seemingly unaware.

Tony wasn’t amused. "Not that I was expecting a kiss from the spider woman, but a hello would be nice."

"Sorry, Tony. You're not usually up this early."

"Isn't this your bedtime," asked Clint. Natasha glared at him from the corner of her eye. He mouthed an ‘I’m sorry’ she dismissed.

"I just came up to get some coffee. I’m going back to sleep. See you later –"

Steve caught his hand, as he was walking away. "Join us. We'll be leaving soon. Director Hill has an assignment for us. We're just waiting to hear from her. You'll have the kitchen to yourself in no time."

It was supposed to be a comfort, Tony knew. He didn’t feel comforted, but he wasn’t going to let that show, so he nodded and sat down next to him, ignoring the curious glances Natasha and Clint were giving them.

Tony stole some of Steve's French toast before he turned to glare at him. "There's more, get your own," said Steve.

"But you haven't even touched yours," replied Tony.

"I was eating it," retorted Steve.

"Sure you were," said Tony, unconvinced.

Steve sighed and pushed the plate over. Tony smiled and finished the platter before getting up for more. When he sat back down, Steve had put down his pencil and was studying the down questions with an intensity he usually reserved for battle.

"Here," said Tony picking up the pencil, "wouldn't expect you to know this one, it happened while you were in ice," and scribbling in the answer. He held out the pencil for Steve to take, which he did.

Tony went back to his breakfast before getting up to refill his mug. He took Steve's with him, and refilled it too. When he sat back down, Steve passed him the business section, which he took happily.

"How's my company doing?"

" _Resilient_ is doing well. There's a story in there, which you'd know about if you read the damn paper."

Tony laughed as he turned the pages until he found the article in question. "You've made your point, Rogers," said Tony as he started reading.  

"Where's Hill sending you," asked Tony, turning to the spies seated in front of him.

"Maria wants us to go to Madripoor," said Natasha.

"Let me guess, super-secret spy stuff?"

Clint nodded.

"She wants us undercover at a tech conference. Mostly black market buyers. Make sure nothing interesting pops up," said Steve.

Tony turned to face him. Natasha pursed her lips but kept quiet, whereas Clint watched them wide-eyed.

"What, we didn't do a good enough job the last time?"

"It's not that, Tony, and you know it. Besides, I'll be back in a few days."

"If Maria Hill thinks there's tech on the black market she should be keeping an eye on, then I should be going with you."

"Tony, you're too visible," blurted out Natasha, immediately regretting her words.

"Oh that's rich coming from you, the world's most visible spy. Yeah, she clearly wants this to be a covert mission... She's sending _Captain America_ for fuck's sake. How daft do you think I am, Nat?"

"Tony... No one's questioning your intelligence. We're just following orders."

"Yeah, yeah. You’re all so good at following orders," said Tony, bitterly, getting out of his seat, dishes in hand. He rinsed them off and left them to dry. As he was walking away, he felt a hand on his shoulders and turned to see Steve.

His brilliant blue eyes bore into him. "I'll only be gone a few days, Tony."

"Thanks for breakfast, Cap," replied Tony. He pushed his hand off his shoulders and walked away, leaving Steve to deal with Clint and Natasha's confused looks.  

“Let him go, Steve,” said Natasha.

Steve kept eyeing the spot on which Tony had stood. He took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. He walked back to his seat, neatly folded the newspaper he had been reading. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t finish the crossword.

He put the dishes away and excused himself.

He needed to get ready, he’d apologize to Tony later.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find this on Tumblr: [here](http://viudanegraaa.tumblr.com/post/150709916416/an-ordinary-day) and [here](http://viudanegraaa.tumblr.com/post/152841964601/an-ordinary-day-part-2).


End file.
